


Love and Duty

by Mairia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Cousin Incest, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Half-Sibling Incest, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairia/pseuds/Mairia
Summary: How do you learn to love someone you once treated a sibling?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is promptly more apt in the books than the show and this is only a prologue, I'll try to update next week which has a more longer number of words than this chapter.

**THE BLACK CLOAKED WOMAN**

 

Her back was pressed against the wall, obscuring a part of her face from the attention and noise that surrounded the dirty, cheap inn she found herself in, one hand currently shaking the mug of ale in her hand in boredom. It was already the dead in the night when she decided to gather more information about the politics of Westeros before she traveled to the Neck even though it doesn’t really interest her that much.

 

However, it seemed that the inn she had visited had no information at all—or it could be that these lousy alcoholic men had been paid to be silent which is no way in happening as far as she is concerned. At that, she sighed in frustration, one hand waving a few wisps of her brown hair away from her cheeks, the glance she gave the drunkards daring to approach her is enough to make them back away and never turned her way again.

 

Good, she doesn’t have time to entertain some insipid individuals who would rather drink a copious number of alcoholic beverages than do anything worth everyone’s while and probably help the economy as well. She pursed her lips and groaned when there was still next to no information she can encounter, all these people in the inn are just sharing bawdy tales that no doubt they wouldn’t talk about if they’re sober at all.

 

It was ten minutes after that when she decided to give up and rest for the night, she can’t afford to lose sleep if the task would hinder her to conserve energy to trek Stone Hedge in the morrow. She needed to be in top shape lest she grow too tired. She stood up from her seat at the corner of the inn—far away from the gossipmongers yet close enough on their hearing range, it was something she had already grown used to.

 

She brushed some of the dirt that had clung to her black cloak, careful not to let the hood drop from her face and then her gaze drooped towards the still full ale with nary a spill, she almost snarled at the thought of gathering nothing when something caught her ears, she stiffened at the words that had sprouted from the mouth of a young man in some common clothes sitting by the second table from her left.

 

“—Prince Jon would marry the former betrothed of that incest child!”

 

She tensed and contemplated no more as she sat back down, grabbing the mug of ale and looked up at the man from under her eyelashes, her grey eyes piercing the side of the man. _‘Former betrothed of the incest child?’_ It didn’t take her a minute before she figured out who the man was speaking about, she is having a rather hard time not to interrogate the drunkard itself.

 

The whore on his side gagged, her teats bounced as she leaned backwards, catching the attention of no more than the three men beside her including the man who said the information. “King Joffrey’s? You mean Lady Margaery Tyrell? But—but she is too kind for a sour-looking man like him!” As if the thought alone is preposterous. The man remained his gaze fixated at her teats bounded by the rag of a dress she wore. “No, it was the first one.” He said, still raptured at her physique.

 

“Aye, heard it was the one that poisoned the bastard king,” The man beside him said, taking a huge gulp of ale on his hand. “And the Targaryen isn’t that bad, now, is he? He deserved someone like Lady Tyrell— “He was cut off by the woman beside him, clinging to his arm, her face was almost reminiscent of the whore’s reaction.

 

“You meant the Lady Stark?!” Her loud exuberant voice had guaranteed to capture everyone’s attention, the woman in black cloak thought that it was intentional. Her guessed had been right about who was to marry who still just the thought of that is enough to make her shift in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable at the union.

 

There are few things that made her repulsed and this is one of them, the thought of them marrying each other to secure the hold of the Southron in the North is something that she decided, she does not want to think about until she is back on her room in this inn but for now, she would listen.

 

“Aren’t they siblings?” An old man had decided to join the conversation, his hand gripping the mug of ale, the woman of the same age as he nodded and said to the audience. “Aye, my grandson was a stable boy in the Red Keep, he heard that they were raised by the same father, the former hand of the king after Jon Arynn!” Her enthusiastic tone promised more of the tale and those that hadn’t paid attention in the conversation before had now focused their gaze at the old woman.

 

The black cloaked woman once more shifted on her seat, her hand had gripped the handle of the mug too tightly that she immediately let go. This conversation was turning to a dangerous turn, years of being patience had somehow managed to be rendered impractical when she had the sudden urge to murder the ones responsible for the death of her father but she held back, barely.

 

The whore from before laughed scandalously, her low voice had managed to stir some of the men beside her yet she paid it no mind, hands crossed just below her ample bosom, she grinned, a knowing tone. “The Daughter of Winterfell? She has my thanks in killing that incest bastard then, us, commonfolks, can’t kill a king yet that Stark managed to be one.” The man beside her had grab her by the shoulders and then let her lean on him, an inconspicuous hand slightly caressed the hips of the woman, she let it be, leaning further into his touch.

 

“Aren’t those accusations proven false?” The man who had started the conversation asked, his eyes strayed from the woman to the man she was leaning into, he pursed his lips and brought the ale on his lips, stubbornly drinking it in silent protest at the sudden intimate moment the two had. “Didn’t that conqueror with the dragons said that the accusations with that Lannister Imp and his former lady wife are baseless?” He asked and then added, “Heard it from my friend’s wife who is a handmaiden of a lowly lady.”

 

The woman in the black cloak held her breath and her grey eyes momentarily found itself on the still full mug of ale. She hadn’t believed that rumor yet a part of her had wished that it was true but then again, another part of her is relieved that it wasn’t proven to be the truth. She had been pondering this for a few minutes when she realized that she had missed a part of the conversation, she silently cursed inside her head and listened once more, slighty tilting her long face down when a man from the tavern walked in front of her table, she can't risked being find out now.

 

“—that reminds me, aren’t they siblings?” The woman with the exuberant voice asked, her eyes alight with keen interest, it was already common knowledge about that little fact. “No, wait— “She rectified, a hand on her hips as she stood up and then tossed a handful of her brown hair to her side.

 

For once, her tone was hesitant. “—cousins, aye?”

 

Sensing that the conversation was already nearing the end, the black cloaked woman stood up from her seat and started walking away from the blabbermouths knowing that if she stayed up any longer she would end up waking up late, she already got the information she needed anyway.

 

As she walked, the dim light of the inn caught the strands of brown hair falling from her cheeks, grey eyes shifted towards the entrance of the inn briefly before she tilted her head down, obscuring the long face that she had as she continued on her way, with various thoughts coursing through her head all at once but one thing she can be assured with is that,

 

_It is time to go home._

 

 


	2. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is wrong, since she received the royal letter that contained the root of her dilemma, it felt like some disgusting leech is crawling on her body and no matter how much she tries, she can’t get it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first official chapter, I hope you enjoy it. The next update may be next week.

**SANSA**

 

Her gaze remained fixated at the fire dancing in the pit, hands clenched on the blood red wine bottle she held on a death grip. Sansa pursed her lips and glanced momentarily at the liquor before taking a deep breath, it reminded her of someone—without any further interruption, she threw it to her side, it landed beside her pillow with a soft ‘thump’ but she paid it no mind, she immediately stood up from the bed.

 

This is wrong, since she received the royal letter that contained the root of her dilemma, it felt like some disgusting leech is crawling on her body and no matter how much she tries, she can’t get it off. The gods of old and new would surely punish this union between her and the half-brother she grew up with. ‘ _He’s not really my brother, now, is it?’_ She thought, trying as much as possible to lessen the revolting situation she found herself in.

 

And they never were the closest of the siblings, far from it, unlike him and Arya.

 

 _‘Ah, but you two grew up thinking you are siblings.’_ The voice that seemed to whisper to her is full of mock amusement, it only took her a second to realized whose tone it reminded her of. ‘ _Cersei Lannister.’_ Her thoughts seemed to conspire against her as that vile woman is the first to come to her mind. Of course, it was the one person that would come to haunt her at the state wherein she is to be wedded to her brother—cousin.

 

It was the last person she even wanted to think about, a woman that is breathtakingly beautiful in the outside and a nightmare to behold if she crossed your path. To think that she once idolized and desired to be Queen Cersei is something she does not want to remember ever happening but unfortunately can’t because it taught her too many lessons that she would need to utilize to survive in this ransacked world that had seen more than enough wars to last a lifetime.

 

And now, she was dragged back in the game without much choice in the decisions, with no solution to the problem, Sansa hopelessly started pacing in front of the intricately designed looking glass—her movements were erratic as her nerves were. She is back in the burned Winterfell in the midst of being rebuilt—in her own chambers—yet the only thing that seemed to be in her mind is the upcoming nuptial.

 

She briefly stopped pacing, eyes wandering towards the looking glass. Her long thick red locks were resting loosely upon her shoulders yet that was not what she is focused in, she stared at the noticeable bags under her once bright but now dull blue eyes, she shifted on her feet, her hollow cheeks were more pronounced with the illumination of the candle light perched on the small table beside her bed and her body that was once healthy enough for a highborn lady of her stature had now thinned down—she surmised it to be from lack of eating and the stress of governing Winterfell while teaching courtly manners to Rickon at the same time.

 

She looked and felt like a tired woman—unfit for someone who is to be the betrothed to the crown prince and current heir of the Iron Throne.

 

How ironic, the last thing she wanted is to be married now—even if it would give her that dream she once had before the Lannisters took that innocence away from her. Not after the disastrous betrothal she was always forced to engaged with—she had already been promised to four men before this and not one of them had been a successful endeavor, what’s to say this one would end up in a wonderful thing when it was already this miserable before it began? She had already half a mind to run away to Essos, start a new life there with some fake name and start working as a dressmaker.

 

However, duty is something she needed to uphold, the peace and independence of the North hinge on this marriage. She had already been past that stage where she only thought of herself and not the people—the consequences—around her. The rational part of her knew that only an alliance through marriage to a Targaryen is the way in which the North wouldn’t have to kneel once more to the Iron Throne. The northern lords would be more than appeased and their kingdom would keep their independence and once Rickon come of age, she would gratefully give him his rightful title, it isn’t even like she had any claim to Winterfell anymore and she doesn’t really care for the will that her older brother left.

 

That inheritance will that has been showed to them by the Lord Glover and Lady Mormont are invalid the moment Jon Sno—Targaryen is in a different line of succession being Lyanna Stark’s trueborn son. She knew that Robb had only made Jon his heir because he didn’t know the truth of his parentage—a Stark and a Targaryen. The Lords of North would rather die first than make a Targaryen their king. Her brother, Rickon, is the impending King of the North and she wouldn’t be afraid to fight anyone through trickery and deceit who would get in the way of his inheritance.

 

Unless, of course, their brother, Bran, the true lord of Winterfell returned from wherever he is hiding because she refused to believe otherwise and when he came back to them, she thinks, Rickon would more than likely toss the kingship to him without a second thought and disappear back into the woods in which he can play every day without her to lecture him about proper conduct.

 

And she would be all too happy that he is pursuing a goal of his own and be a child in this cruel world they managed to live in. However, unless Bran remained missing—she would be forced to watch her younger brother assumed a title that he is neither prepared for nor wanted. She sighed at that, what difference does she make when she is just like any other nobles that would move their piece without thinking of another’s feelings? Who was she to complain about this sham of a marriage then? When she can plainly see the merits of that.

 

Her feelings are to be set aside for the sake of their realm and her brother would also need a man in guidance and not just her.

 

At the thought of her little brother, she stopped pacing only to flinched at the sudden thought that assaulted her. _‘Would he even recognized the half-brother he used to have?’_ That bothered her once more. Rickon’s memories was honestly worrisome but then again, he was only a child when he got separated from them. He only ever remembered some attributes that were associated to them, he didn’t even remember Sansa at first, that had hurt her more than she cared to admit.

 

It had only showed how little she had spent time with Rickon before and now, she would try and correct that mistake she had and treat him with more affection than her younger self could ever hope to achieve.

 

 _‘If only mother is here to help me solve the problem.’_ She thought, her gaze drawn back towards the fire. _‘Mother…’_ Her thoughts trailed off, it felt like she was forgetting something. And then it clicked, she tore her attention from the looking glass to stare rather intensely at her bed. Her lady mother must be rolling in her death right now, she clenched her fists and took a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

 

If only they don’t know each other, then mayhaps this would be a whole lot easier. Then again, they weren’t really close as siblings yet they still treat other as such. When she calmed down a bit, she slowly opened her eyes and her stare drifted off to the fire in thought. Mayhaps there are still hope for them, atleast she wouldn’t be married to a man that would exploit the North to his gain, she would marry someone that cared for House Stark just as much as she does and wouldn’t try to usurp the sovereignty of her younger brother.

 

 _‘Better than the Tyrells, that’s for sure.’_ She would more likely to be sent to Highgarden and live the rest of her life away from Winterfell—that had once been the one of the most beautiful dream she had after the death of her father—yet just the passing thought of that right now is enough to make her shake her head in disappointment, it was a stupid foolish dream of hers.

 

And Rickon—that little rascal—needed a figure that would serve as a good role model to be molded into, gods know that he would be the one to drive her mad one day with his behavior being far more appropriate for a free folk than the Lord of Winterfell. It was exhausting to think of him at a time like this, in the hour of the wolves.

 

Sansa puffed out her breath and sank to the confines of her bed even though she is still cloaked in a heavy grey wool dress, she wondered if it would be okay to sleep in her day clothes. With that final thought, her gaze started to droop, eyes focused on the empty space beside her. Soon, she would have to share the room with him.

 

It was something she does not look forward to.

 

She was already close to dozing off when a repeated series of knocks had awoken her, she slowly lifted her head from the bed when the door had opened and her eyes find its way to Rickon who had his hands on his hips, his gaze was alarmingly dreadful and trotting beside him is his direwolf—a rare occurrence as she always saw the wolf as an uncontrollable, untamed beast. Her younger brother closed the door to give them some privacy and then immediately walked towards her with an unsealed letter on his hands.

 

“What is this?” He asked in a confused manner, waving around the piece of parchment in front of her. It took her only a moment to gather her thoughts and sat up from the bed, urging him to sit beside her, he didn’t but Shaggydog took the invitation and promptly lie down beside her. The paws of the direwolf is lacking on being damp today, that surprised her more than Rickon finding out the letter that had been buried beneath a series of boring letters that would had him yawn, she wondered why he had even visited their father’s study when he knew she was not there.

 

Sansa cleared her throat and made sure to stare at his eyes. “It is from the King’s Landing.” She started, not knowing how to exactly broached the topic. He wrinkled his nose at that, she was amused to see that he isn’t interested in anything past the Riverlands. It would make him a poor diplomat but she supposed, it’s not like there’s anything worth interesting in the South. She looked down at the direwolf beside her—once, the animal was far too wary of her but things had changed since then—and let her hand rest atop Shaggydog’s head, stroking his beautiful wild fur.

 

Rickon had looked at her and puffed his cheeks, staring at her like she is keeping some secret from him, she raised an eyebrow at this. “I read it.” He announced, a triumphant look crossing his face at seeing her chuckled at that, the corners of her lips lifting even though it shouldn’t be good news that he had read that letter but she can’t focus on that when her normally book-hating brother suddenly have interest in reading and the look on his face as if he achieved something greatly hard is enough to make a part of her soften.

 

“That’s good.” Sansa cheered softly, removing her black gloved hand from Shaggydog to take the letter from Rickon’s hand and gently placing it beside her before she stood up and took both of his hands and kneeled in front of him, her skirts billowing on the ground. “Does that mean that you are now willing to share your precious play time to come read the letters sent to us by the lords?” She asked, eyes staring at him in obvious joy and he seemed to sensed it as he sniffed and tried to protest, his mouth already on the process before he closed his mouth and then after a few seconds immediately said.

 

“But it’s boring!” He looked at her in the eyes, his innocent blue stare is making it harder for Sansa to silently convince him to learn some of the responsibilities tasked to him. “And that letter— “He suddenly said, cutting off whatever words she would have said. “You’re getting married!” His eyes were too wide, a wild look overcoming his feature and Sansa stiffened at the way he looked at her as if he’s close to breaking down.

 

“You’re going away!” His voice was loud, taking his hands away from her and backing away. “You’re going to leave me just like them!” And before she could react any further, he kneeled in front of her and his hands encircled her waist, his hands digging into her back. “Don’t leave me…” It was soft, almost faint and was barely audible. She felt the few droplets of tears marking her shoulder where he had buried his head, he is crying, she numbly thought.

 

Her hands found itself returning his embrace, leaning further and whispering words that she wouldn’t leave him alone and everyone would die first before they were ever separated again. She let him pour his emotions out, patting his back—hearing the way he sniffed and try to suppress his vulnerabilities. _‘He’s still a kid, a boy of seven.’_ And he is already losing the ignorance of a child. _‘When I was his age, I was worried that I’ll turn into a lemon cake if I ate too much of it, Robb and Theon had always teased me for that.’_ She thought, reminiscing.

 

Yet her younger brother is weeping and fearing because he was afraid that he would lost the only family he had left. The world is unfair, she knew that. It only made her tighten her hold on Rickon, mayhaps she needed comfort just as much as he does.

 

“You’re not going away?” He suddenly asked, breaking away from her hug. His eyes were full of hope and unshed loneliness. She did not think to hesitate to answer the question. “No one would leave you alone anymore, I’m going to live here.” She said, ignoring that small part of her that thought, _‘As long as the Dragon Queen is alive and I remained Queen Regent until Rickon took his rightful place, I wouldn’t be anywhere but Winterfell.’_ And Sansa prayed that the woman select a husband soon and birth him an heir, she does not want to go anywhere past the Neck.

 

The Dragon Queen that she had only met once—it was in the Battle for the Dawn against the Others and now, she had her fate decided by a woman only a few years apart from her and a stranger at best. That woman would be living in King’s Landing, a nest of snakes and spiders littering the halls—damaging the beautiful architecture with their impure and treacherous intentions.

 

And just the thought of the Red Keep is enough to make her lose her appetite. “Do you promise that?” Rickon tried to confirm, drawing her full attention. She gave a nod and pat his head, ruining his long, untamed hair that he still refused to cut. She let her eyes stray from his hair to his face, his blue eyes that looked much like her mother is staring at her, silently pleading her. _‘He looks like Robb when he tried to ask me for the song of Florian the Fool, it hurts.’_ Her thoughts made her miserable more than she cared to admit sometimes. _‘I had always been too excited to sing to him that song when he requested—he was my hero once until I realized there are no heroes in life.’_

 

“Of course, I do.” Sansa said, standing up from the ground and lending a hand for him to stand too. He took it with little to no effort, his mood seemed less hostile and sad now than when he first entered the room—to which she was grateful to quell his depression. “And besides,” She said, turning away from him to walked back towards the letter placed beside Shaggydog who had watched their interaction with his face buried deep into her mattress—another rare sight, she was starting to question whether the direwolf is sick or something but she decided otherwise, there are more important matters to think about.

 

Sansa thought it unwise to spare him the truth about her nuptial and she turned to give him the letter once more, he accepted it and tried to read the contents once more. “The man I am to be married is guaranteed to take care of our wellbeing and would put our health first before his.” Atleast, that is what she knew, he could had changed and she wouldn’t have begrudged him for it.

 

“Jon Targaryen?” He suddenly voiced out, squinting his eyes to try and see if he was being deceived. She watched him for a reaction and then suddenly felt stupid when he just continued to looked at her in confusion. Right, he doesn’t remember Jon at all. “Yes, Jon.” She coughed and said to him that.

 

Rickon remained confused. “A Targaryen? Those rulers from the South?” He seemed to try and recall his past lessons about the history she had studied for the songs since she was a kid and her preparation to be the Queen someday. It was quiet for a few seconds and Sansa had wondered if he even knew anything about the blood of dragons. “Why is his name different from them? Is he a fake?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at her direction, she remembered him complaining about the ridiculous name the Targaryen kept giving their children.

 

She fought the urged to sigh in disappointment, he didn’t recall anything but the break of the traditional name of the Targaryen—a Valyrian namesake, she sat back down on the bed and gathered her thoughts. “Well,” She started, not knowing how to exactly word it. “Do you remember the name of your brothers?” Sansa asked. In all honesty, no one really knows what Jon’s trueborn name was—her father took it to his grave.

 

Rickon had puffed his cheeks at that and rolled his eyes, probably annoyed that she kept telling him about some people he hadn’t even remembered living with at a time like this. That speculation made her silently weep for the wonderful family he never had a chance to grow up with, ‘ _My little brother deserved more, he needed his family and not just me—someone who once had tried to kept their siblings on armlength just to practice being the perfect lady and impress a prince that is never real.’_ Though when he was in a mood of loneliness, she often remembered the way he lighted up when she cheered him up with some amusing stories of their siblings together, the look of his eyes then had always been one of longing.

 

“Robb is the eldest brother,” He started begrudgingly, she urged him to go on. “Bran is the second one and there is another one—our half-brother, Jon Snow.” Rickon had looked at her after that, impatient as to why she won’t just tell him the truth, Sansa recalled that the only ones he had remembered albeit vaguely out all his family members are their mother, father and Bran.

 

“I hadn’t been truthful to you,” Sansa confessed, she remembered telling him tales of their siblings’ quirks and hobbies to let him familiarize himself to them however she hadn’t considered to talk to him about the half-brother he had heard from her stories is really just his cousin. Rickon looked at her in confusion, “What do you mean?” He tried to understand her words yet can’t come up with anything.

 

She was already on the process of going to tell him that Jon Snow is their cousin when something had stopped her, Sansa looked at Rickon and saw that he expected an honest answer to her, she can already hear the accusing words that he would throw her way, _‘You said no lies.’_ At that, she stiffened. Mayhaps it wasn’t that big of a deal if she told him now but would he really understand their situation?

 

He is only a boy of seven, he may not understand and jump to conclusions that she is marrying their brother—after all, she had stressed out in her stories about Jon being their brother and how their siblings would have spent their time with him more often than not—more often than _hers_. Mayhaps he would think her sick for making him her husband or something, just the thought of her younger brother thinking something associated with negativity to her made her recoiled back and pursed her lips.

 

When he is older, she decided. It was unlikely to ruin something like that, at least Sansa hoped that little white lie of hers wouldn’t backfired on her. And so, with that decision on her mind. She gave a smile. “When the time is right, I’ll tell you.” She said. Rickon looked at her in confusion, if he had been a little older, she knew that he would have protested and demand to know more but he is still a child—as stubborn as he was, he isn’t interested in discovering truths and whatnots mayhaps if he was Arya, she wouldn’t put it past her to be as persistent as a mule.

 

“About Jon, he is less Targaryen as you can imagine.” She offered an answer and then started walking towards the table on her chambers, it was stacked with parchments that she had carried from her father’s study. “That is all you needed to know and before you can ask,” She had saw him from the corner of her eyes trying to tell her something. “I met him before and he’ll be good to you and me.” Sansa stopped walking to gaze at Rickon straight into his eyes that mirrored her own blue ones that they both had inherited from their late lady mother.

 

Because even if this marriage would be miserable, she had no doubt that he would treat Rickon better than whomever she could had been arranged as a husband with. And at the end of the day, that is all it really matters.

 

_‘My family’s safety above all others.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if the characters aren't acting like themselves because I would try and rectify it immediately. And also, I deleted the scene with the italics because I decided to separate it in a oneshot after I finished writing this, as to not confused the readers.


	3. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t want to marry her, she doesn’t want to marry him.
> 
> But they can’t get all what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay of updating but here's the second chapter and I had decided to just separate what happened with Jon and Sansa when they were reunited (that whole italics block of words at the end of chapter one that I erased) so as not to confused the readers.

**JON**

 

He had protested, if not for his sist—cousin’s sake then for the way she is being sold off like a thing to be tossed away when done however his aunt seen no fit to annul the marriage—she had told him that ignorant men often thought that all highborn ladies had been conceived for the sake of marrying them to create an alliance that would strengthen the ties of the families, it was a duty every woman had known since the day of their birth and she had also stressed out that she had once experienced being married off at a young age herself. At that, he had stormed out of the council room—not paying attention to the disapproval gaze she had cast on him.

 

Jon had half the mind to escape from King’s Landing and to stay away from the Red Keep if it meant that Sansa would not be forced to be married to a man she thought her brother for so long. He had remembered her then, the way she had cling to him when they were reunited at Winterfell—she was fleeing from something that happened in the Vale that she still hadn’t told him about—and he had sworn to her that she need not worry because he would protect her from the likes of those men, she called him a fool for suggesting promising her something that is not determined yet she accepted it all the same, reluctantly, if he may recall.

 

And maybe she was right that he was a fool, he couldn’t save her from being a celibate maiden even though he had received a letter with symbols that he decoded from her stating that Rickon had been found but hadn’t been debuted to anyone but some of the trustworthy Lords of the North that she had trusted and his appearance had still been kept a guarded secret by the North. Recovering Rickon meant she can be protected from having to produce an heir and sometimes, when his thoughts strayed towards the North, he wondered if she had a tough time becoming the Lady of Winterfell before he realized that she had been trained by her late mother and septa to become a queen, it came natural to her.

 

To clear his mind from this, he had decided that maybe—a walk in the Godswood will be ideal, he had half the mind to proceed when a voice called him out, he had the urged to ignore it yet he knew it is not wise. He sighed and turned around, his eyes shifting towards the queen walking to him, he saw the heavy bags under her eyes, her normally warm and fierce violet eyes looked tired—she is fit more for war than peace, he mused.

 

Winning the throne is far easier than sitting one—she had also said that to him, when they were taking a walk into the gardens, her gaze had remained on the sky, it was filled with loneliness and he never saw a woman that looked exhausted and worn-out. He wondered if she regretted any of this but then thought it absurd, she had dreamed and earned it. And maybe, that is enough.

 

“That Stark girl,” She had started, her Braavosi styled dress billowed behind her, he had always wondered how she can wear an outfit with her skin being shown without being reprimanded by a septa nor a stuck-up noble—the clothes from this part of the Kingdom hadn’t interest him in the slightest, deeming them bizarre but practical for the weather and summer heat of the South. Or maybe because he was just raised in the Northmen culture that way. Their style is far too outlandish to him, and the women’s hairstyle is complicated with delicate twists just to let it remain upright.

 

He had raised an eyebrow at her words, “You meant the Lady Stark?’ He asked, hiding the confusion in his voice or atleast he hoped he did. Wondering what she wanted, surely, not to pester him more about the betrothal she had sent to Winterfell without his consent nor blessings, typical, he had really known nothing that she had already been going behind his back. “What about her?’

 

Daenerys offered him a smile, the way her lips turned upwards yet her eyes remained the same with that unreadable gaze told him that it wasn’t supposed to be reassuring. “She looked like the kind of girl to know that the safety of the realm comes first,” Before he can say anything, she held up a hand to stop him from cutting her off, her gaze turned steel, a look of disdain crossing her face and the torches on the side of the wall illuminated a sense of foreboding on the way she stared at him.

 

“Those Northern Lords would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.” She said, Jon noticed the way she sniffed at the thought of that, he suddenly remembered that she had no toleration to the descendants of the Starks just as she has no warmth to the idea of becoming friendly to any of the Usurper’s lapdogs—he had long since known that she had merely tolerated his presence because he is her brother’s only breathing son and her current heir—and that the late Aegon who had been slayed is nothing but a fraud, a Blackfyre in the making. He thought, after everything she had sacrificed for, she wouldn’t let the Iron Throne slipped from the Targaryen’s reign and that included the whole of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

 

Daenerys had crossed her arms under her chest, her gaze piercing through him—daring him to argue with her decisions, he knew that she doesn’t like to be told what to do nor anyone opposing to the plan she had laid out, she is as stubborn as one can get when it comes to these kinds of things. “The Starks wanted their independence then they are going to get it—marrying a Targaryen is the exchange, it would be foolish to let them off without consequences.” Her voice is becoming more confident, the tone is starting to make him wonder if there is something more she wasn’t telling him.

 

“You are there to remind them that the Targaryens would always watched over them—freedom they may have, the half of the land mass of Westeros they may possessed but there wouldn’t be a time in which they can sleep knowing that they have outwitted their true queen, I will see to it that betraying the alliance could result to unwanted desires.” Her tone turned steel, eyes alight with something akin to burning fire with its intensity.

 

He remained silent, expecting his aunt to walk away from him now. But she hadn’t, instead she observed him with her gaze, a look of something he isn’t quite sure of and then she sighed, one hand on her left side of the head as if it gave her stressed to see him being stubborn. “Jon,” She started. “I know this is hard for you because you were raised as a Stark but when I was still a child, I had expected my life to be married to my brother once we returned to Westeros and reclaimed what is ours.” Jon doesn’t know where this is going and he shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the way she spoke of marrying her brother like it was a normal and expected thing to do.

 

“What I’m trying to say is— “She stopped, he stared at her as she pursed her lips and seemed to change her mind at the last moment, he raised an eyebrow at this. “Daenerys?” He inquired, trying to make her continue her encouraging speech no matter how it didn’t really encourage him to marry his sister—cousin. “You’re going home to Winterfell, that’s all you wanted since the start or have I been mistaken in my observation?” She told him though he didn’t think it was the right words she was going to say before she stopped.

 

Her tone turned curt and stiff, gaze unreadable. “Well, you’re going to have it, your home and family back, I don’t think there is anything for you to complain, many men would have fought for that kind of honor.” At that, she turned around from him, her long silver blonde hair styled in an intricate southron hairstyle had flowed behind her reminiscing of a cloak, the crown of jewels she had worn glinted in the candlelight as she walked back towards the council room without paying any more attention to him.

 

He remembered her first plan—burn those who opposed her rule however someone seemed to had talk sense to her, he doesn’t know who it was but Jon being a Stark and a Targaryen seemed to lessen her hate for the family he had grown up with albeit barely and had spared his remaining family the fate that befall some of the Baratheons and Lannisters. He almost shuddered to think of what happened to them, he was never a fan of dragon fire.

 

He recalled that she didn’t request him to go back to the council room, he raised an eyebrow at this but continued his way. It had always been like that, he supposed. She seemed to still consider him a threat to her rule because his claim is far more appropriate than hers but he thought it imprudent of her to think that the army only loyal to hers would bow down to him and betray her—they weren’t even sure if he was a bastard or a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen—the Targaryens can take more than one wife but what do they know about the event of something that was already buried deep in the past?

 

 _‘Mayhaps this is a part of her plan,’_ he thought. To let him live as far away from the King’s Landing as possible—without the treacherous ears of various factions that may rally behind him if he ever felt the need to reclaim the throne by his birthright. Which is ridiculous, he doesn’t desire the throne—his aunt seemed paranoid nonetheless. However, if he did succeed her rule if she doesn’t have an heir, wouldn’t it be more appropriate if he stayed in King’s Landing and learn the ways of the court?

 

But then again, he doesn’t really mind that she is sending him to the North, it would make him more than grateful for this nevertheless it could do without marrying the woman he had always known to be his sister. Jon had shaken his head, hands clasped behind his back as he started going towards the Godswood that can be found in the Red Keep, it was still the only place in which he can be without those pestering lords trying to gain his favor to carry their opinions into the ears of his aunt—didn’t they realized that he too can’t sway any of her decisions because if he can, he wouldn’t be stuck on this.

 

* * *

 

 

His walk towards the Godswood had been uneventful with the occasional servants bowing when they crossed his path—that only made him more sullen. He had known for a long time that things like that were normal for lords of his newfound stature but he had grown up as the Bastard of Winterfell—a stain in the impeccable honor that the Great Eddard Stark had. The only way that highborn lords to notice him is if they are curious to look at the boy that had made the former Warden of the North betrayed his sense of honor by fathering a bastard like him. And now, he had never been more uncomfortable in his life than the way they treated him now, it seemed just like yesterday when he had woken up in his bed in Winterfell.

 

When he had first arrived at the Red Keep—which had been burned and laid siege by the late Aegon who Daenerys usurped the throne after finding out his false identity—he was surprised to find a place of worship for the Old Gods there but as his eyes strayed towards the bark of the tree in the Godswood—it wasn’t like the one in Winterfell however it was its own beautiful scenery, he had stared at it for so long, he hadn’t even noticed that his direwolf had come to stand beside him.

 

Once he got there, he had immediately saw his direwolf just lounging underneath the great oak covered in smokeberry vines, Jon stared to see Ghost gazing at him with his intense red eyes, drowning him in a sea full of blood. He had walked a few paces and let his black gloved hand wandered around his direwolf, caressing the fur around his head and watched in contemplation at the way the wolf whimpered before tilting his head to side and let him be petted, probably knowing that his companion is in need of someone to be with in a time like this, he crouched on the ground beside his direwolf. “What say you, Ghost?” His voice was hoarse before he coughed and tried to let it regain its past tune. He repeated the words once more, this time aloud and it came out more natural.

 

Jon had found himself in the Godswood again, it may not be Winterfell but in the Red Keep, this is one of the places he can visit, to make him remember his peaceful memories of his brothers and sisters before they were torn apart from each other. It was disconcerting, to know that the siblings he once had are reduced to being cousins and the father he put on a high pedestal had managed to withhold the truth of his parentage.

 

He knew that he would rather be the bastard son of Eddard Stark than the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, he doesn’t think too highly of the way his real parents had handled the war, their selfishness giving its way to a rebellion that had teared the seven kingdoms apart and the effects can still be felt till today. ‘ _My life wasn’t worth it.’_ Hundreds of innocents died while he had been born in the time of that war, his true half-siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys, had died before they even matured enough to form coherent thoughts.

 

As much as he wanted to think about that, his thoughts kept dwelling back to the upcoming wedding that would happen when he returned to Winterfell. He would be married to Sansa, his half-sister turned cousin. Just thinking about that made him felt nauseated, like a sin he couldn’t bore to commit. And no, he knew it wasn’t about her personality—she had changed in some ways he couldn’t fathom what happened to her—so much as it was about the fact that he had grew up thinking that they were siblings.

 

Maybe this was enough proof that he really is a Targaryen, turning her to become his sister like wife—that title is fitting with how they act around each other because they both know that they only ever loved each other as siblings even if they weren’t that close as children at best and even by then, it has only improved better when they were reunited in a crucial time when they needed each other’s support. He knew this unification was wrong, if only he had another way to ensure that the North would not have to kneel to a Targaryen once more then he would do absolutely everything just not to let Sansa be wed to a man she doesn’t want.

 

She did not deserve to remain a pawn, gods only knew what happened to her in her time in King’s Landing to turn the once child who believed that life is a song into a woman who had become well-versed in the game he neither knows nor wanted to partake in. Jon heaved under his breath before he retracted his hand from the neck of Ghost to stand up from the ground, his black trousers had some bits of dirt clinging to it, when he had glanced down, he brushed it away from him.

 

But the only other way that Daenerys would have suggested is to just subjugate the North with her army and dragons, he would be bringing war to the land he tried to save just because he doesn’t want to get married to his sist—cousin. He couldn’t put the stake of one person against a hundred—it was a painful realization but it wasn’t like he can do anything about it.

 

Jon sighed and his gaze shifted towards the wide sky—clear white clouds drifting off without a care in the world and birds flying freely, having no one to tie them down. It had always been a wishful thinking, he couldn’t do anything but pursed his lips and prepared himself with the situation that he had been faced with even if she would be repulsed by the very idea or suggestion of it.

 

He doesn’t want to marry her, she doesn’t want to marry him.

 

But they can’t get all what they want.

 

He had learned that since the moment he was old enough to distinguish a trueborn from a bastard and what his role in Winterfell was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you exactly write the Mother of Dragons? I still haven't got the hang of her yet, as far as I remember, she isn't warm to the idea of the Starks yet and any of the "Usurper's Lapdog" (as shown in her conversation with Ser Barristan) but she'll only be appearing on this chapter anyway since this fic is focused on the Starks but still please tell me if I got any of the characters' personality wrong for future references and fics.

**Author's Note:**

> Please inform me if there are any wrong spellings, I'm not the best student when it comes to Grammar™.


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